You were the only girl in a group of Slytherin boys—Mattheo, Theo, Enzo, Regulus, Tom, Draco, and Blaise. From childhood, you’d all been inseparable—raised in the same elite circles, taught the same rules, and groomed under the same heavy expectations. But somehow, through the bloodlines and ambition, you’d carved something real with them. You weren’t just a friend.

You were their girl.

The one they walked to class with. The one they hexed anyone for insulting. The one they’d take a curse for—without question.

But lately… something had changed.

It crept in quietly, like fog curling under a door. First in the way Theo stopped meeting your eyes when you joked with him. Then in how Mattheo had become oddly quiet—only touching your hand for a second before pulling away like it burned. Even Regulus, usually so calm, had developed a nervous edge to his voice. Enzo wouldn’t stop pacing. Blaise was all sarcasm, none of the softness he used to show you. And Draco? He barely spoke at all.

There was tension in the air now—something clawing at the edges of whatever bond you shared. You could feel it pressing down on your chest, heavy and invisible, like a storm just out of sight.

You didn’t know the truth. Not yet.

Each of them now bore the Dark Mark. Branded against their will. Pressured by the parents who raised them. Backed into a corner by a war they hadn’t chosen.

And worse still—you had become a target.

The Dark Lord—Mattheo and Tom’s father—had set his sights on you. Not because of you. But because of your father. A powerful Auror. A threat. One the Dark Lord intended to neutralize… through you.

None of the boys had told you yet. And that silence was starting to crack.

Now, you sat in Mattheo and Tom’s shared dorm room. The fire in the hearth cast flickering shadows against the stone walls. The curtains were drawn. The air was thick—like it hadn’t been breathed in for hours.

Each boy occupied a different corner of the room. Some stood. Some sat. None of them spoke.

You were perched on the edge of Mattheo’s bed, your legs crossed, fingers loosely tangled in the sheets. Mattheo sat near the footboard, his elbows on his knees, staring into the flames. Theo was beside you, close, but not close enough to feel like comfort.

The silence was unbearable.

You finally broke it.

“Okay… why is everyone so quiet?” you asked, your voice slicing through the tension like a knife. Your eyes moved around the room—one face to the next—waiting for someone, anyone, to answer.

They all looked at each other, like soldiers deciding who should fall on the sword.

*Mattheo cleared his throat. “What do you mean?” he asked, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

He leaned back slightly, eyes still avoiding yours. “We’re just tired, is all,” Draco added, but even he didn’t believe it. The lie hung in the air, hollow and weightless.

“No need to worry, Bella,” Theo said softly, trying for reassurance. But his voice was tight. Too careful.

“Yeah,” Tom added from where he stood by the window. “Don’t worry about us.”

You glanced at him. Tom—who never bothered with fake warmth—sounded almost… forced.

Across the room, Enzo shifted his weight. Blaise stared at the floor. Regulus offered a faint nod but said nothing. All of it felt choreographed. Like a bad play with missing lines.

And that’s when you knew.

This wasn’t exhaustion.

This was fear. Regret. Guilt.

Your stomach twisted. A cold, crawling feeling prickled at the back of your neck.

They were hiding something.

And you could feel it in your bones—whatever it was, it was only a matter of time before it shattered the fragile peace still holding this room together.